Breaking up with My Boss - Alexis Winter Page 0,10
stupid issue is at hand. In the first dream, we fight over our living arrangement. In the second dream, we fight over who’s preparing dinner, which I find extremely weird since I have a chef. Slowly but surely, the dreams begin morphing into something else entirely. The fighting stops and a friendship grows. That friendship blossoms into love, which leads to her sleeping in my bed with my arms around her, holding her close to my body and feeling relaxed as I breathe in her scent.
Her body is on top of mine, kissing my neck as she frees me from my pants. Burning heat greets me as she slides down my length, wrapping me up in her taut body. My hands find her hips as her tongue tangles against mine. I can already feel my release rising to the surface and making itself known. She lets out a breathy moan that has me coming undone in ways I never have before. Just as my release rises to the surface, my alarm clock goes off and my eyes pop open.
I’m breathing hard and my forehead is peppered with sweat. I look down my body to make sure she isn’t actually there, even though I know it’s impossible. The bed and the room are completely empty of everything but me. I drop my head back down onto my pillow and work to control my racing heart. After a few seconds of letting that dream slip away, I shut off the alarm and push myself out of bed, going directly into the bathroom to shower for work.
I’d hoped that the shower would help my body relax from the uneasiness of that dream. However, I find myself more and more aggravated. I’ve always had an itch for Poppy, but we’re so different that most of the time, the need for her is forgotten under a bed of arguments and irritation. I was hoping that bringing her into my house and forcing her to play this role would only help that need get pushed further back in my mind. Unfortunately, all it did was bring her to the forefront. Based on that dream, my need for her has only grown. I can no longer ignore that itch. My head dips forward, allowing the water to wash over it. I try pushing all thoughts of her away, but my body betrays me. I’m aching and ready for release. Even with the discipline and control over my own body and mind, I can’t force it down—not even with thoughts of baseball and granny panties.
With a sigh of disappointment, I take myself in hand, working from the tip to my shaft as quickly and aggressively as possible. I try to keep my mind clear as I take care of this problem before it turns into a problem I have all day long. But my self-control is clearly slipping, because even though I started out clearheaded, I’m soon only thinking of her and that dream. I remember her heat as she lowered herself onto me. I remember her hot, soft body pressed against mine, the way she kissed me with so much power and passion, and the way her fingers threaded into my hair—pulling it as small gasps slipped between her lips and mine. It doesn’t take long before I’m emptying myself on the shower floor and letting all my irritation wash down the drain.
A pang of guilt eats at me, but mostly, it’s the aggravation I feel regarding this whole mess. I wonder if Daniel was right. Do I only want her because she’s the only one I can’t have? If that’s the case, then why can’t I have her? I mean, look at me. I’m a young, wealthy, good-looking, healthy guy. Any woman would be proud to have me in her bed for an evening. But with Poppy, it isn’t about the money or power. I wonder what it is that drives her. What is it that she finds attractive in a man? Surely there’s something I can offer.
I dress and step out of my room, going to the dining room for coffee and breakfast. I sit at my usual seat and pick up the paper while my house manager, Jane, pours my coffee and fixes my plate.
“What would you like today, sir?” she asks as she dumps creamer into my cup.
I glance at the selection on the table. “I’ll take some eggs, fruit, and oatmeal please.”